


In the Belly of the Beast

by alikuu



Series: Ost-in-Edhil [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Gore, Terrifying Tolkien Week, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8386555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Celebrimbor and Annatar camp in the foothills of the Misty Mountains on a late Autumn night. Canon-compliant (ish) Inspired by the werewolves scene from LOTR and Sauron’s wolf and vampire transformations from the Silmarillion. Written for Day 2 of Terrifying Tolkien Week 2016, writing prompt: THERE WAS A STRANGENESS IN THE HORN / A WILDNESS IN THE CRY / THE POWER OF DEVILRY FORLORN / EXULTING BLOODILY





	

In the hollow season when the last dry leaves of the year whispered on knobbly branches, the Lord of Eregion had drifted asleep under the midnight sky. The sound of horses’ afeared squealing startled him and he jolted awake amongst the furs and leathers of his traveler’s bedroll, blinking bleary eyes in the gloom.

A wintry drift blew from the east, howling under the titanic outlines of three monstrous peaks, pitch black and reaching into the starless sky. The moon was new, overcast and ghastly, and the night was not a good one for traveling, nor for camping outside, however urgency and necessity had forced Celebrimbor and his friend to hurry on the roads between Ost-in-Edhil and Khazad-dum, making camp in the wilderness on the foothills of the Misty Mountains, wherever dusk caught up with them.

The horses neighed and stomped restlessly as drowsily Celebrimbor looked to the burning embers of the fire. On its other side was Annatar, sitting quietly on his own bedroll, watching the flames die down.

The Elven Lord was of mind to ask what had spooked their horses, when a howl started, rising thinly somewhere far away, miles into the night. In response, the two stallions reared up, terrorised by the cries of predators lurking in the dark.

The elf’s heart beat a little faster as well, instinct sharpening his senses and shaking away the last shreds of sleep from his limbs. Nevertheless, calmly he spoke:

“Times must be foul indeed if wolves come down from the Misty Mountains so early in the year.” 

His friend barely blinked, still as if asleep, or as if listening very intently to something that the elf could not perceive.

In the gloom just outside the dying light, trees crackled and rustled in the chilly wind. Its cold touch bit at the sleep-warmed skin of the elf’s neck and face. Unwittingly, Celebrimbor shivered.

“We should put more wood into the fire.” He suggested, readjusting his position amongst the snug covers of his bedroll.

“There is no more.” The Maia responded suddenly, startling the Elven Lord a bit. “Unless you feel like gathering firewood in the dark, this was the last of it.”

“No more?” Celebrimbor frowned. “We collected plenty earlier.”

“The night is cold - the wood burns quickly.” Annatar said, his irises filled with the red of the low flames.

“You used it all?” Celebrimbor insisted disbelievingly.

“Yes. As I said, it burns out fast.” Annatar finally met his gaze. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but for an instant, Celebrimbor thought the Maia’s yellow eyes were more animal than human, slitted in the middle like some kind of carnivorous beast. Blinking rapidly, the elf looked again. Annatar’s eyes were the same golden ones as he had come to expect.

With a weary sigh Celebrimbor lied back down, pulling the edges of his bedroll closer and tucking his cloak around his body as best as he could. The wind gathered fallen leaves into shivering spirals, dragging them over the dead grass with a susurrus. Without a proper fire the night was becoming even colder.

Tiredly he watched Annatar’s face over the glow of the last embers, his vision softening around the edges as sleep once again wooed him.

Another wolf-cry wailed into the the night, sounding closer and clearer than the one before. Celebrimbor’s half-lidded eyes flew open and he held his breath as not one, but several voices joined in the macabre tune.

Their horses jumped and neighed loudly, pawing at the earth with their steel-clad hoofs.

“That pack is getting closer.” Celebrimbor rose to his elbows, turning to the Maia, who was yet to move an inch since the elf had last seen him.

Annatar’s eyes were cool and unaffected when they met the elf’s. Celebrimbor tried to hide the unease that pumped through him with every passing second of ominous silence. The Maia didn’t seem to share his dread, possibly failing to understand the fear of ending up in a wolf’s belly, for one attached to a fleshly form.

Tyelperinquar turned his eyes to the shadows and stared into the emptiness just beyond the red circle of light. There was nothing for him there but the frightened stare of his horse’ large black eyes. The animal huffed and groaned softly in misery.

“The horses are scared.” The Elven Lord added. In the hollow air around them, his voice seemed to be disappearing into the darkness. “With the wind blowing as it does, we cannot hope that it won’t carry our scent in the direction of that howling.”

“Are you afraid?” Annatar asked and his calm voice brought some relief in the cold isolation of the night, even if his words irritated the proud elf.

“There are only two of us, and our fire is burning out.” Tyelperinquar chided. “Staying here and waiting for a pack of hungry wolves to come our way is not the smartest strategy.”

“They are not hungry.” Annatar declared, making Celebrimbor frown. “Didn’t you hear their voices? They sang of the raw flesh they have feasted upon, the fresh bones they have mauled. Their bellies are sated, for now. However we are in their territory, and the night is their domain. They want to see who has dared to trespass.”

“This is not their land and we are not the trespassers here.” Celebrimbor’s scowl deepened, unrest and suspicion edging harshly into his face. “But how do you know the language of wolves? How can you understand their voices?”

“Wolves are not that different from elves.” Annatar challenged flippantly. “They eat meat, they hunt in packs, they communicate with each other. I learned your language, I don’t see why you are so surprised that I learned theirs as well.”

Before the Lord of Eregion could challenge that statement, a long, doleful wail rose somewhere nearby and the elf’s head snapped in its direction. His eyes darted across the unpierceable shadows around the hill.

“I don’t like the sound of that.” He said and just as he spoke, the steeds finally lost their nerve and bolted, despite the fabled loyalty of elven horses.

Celebrimbor stared after his retreating stallion mutely. He didn’t dare to raise his voice and call after the animal. Dread had frozen him to the core, and he only hoped that the horses would run to safety.

The next howl came from the other side of their encampment. Celebrimbor jolted, rising to his knees, heart beating fast.

“We are surrounded.” He warned and groped for his sword blindly.

Nearby Annatar was observing him with a strange detachment in his eyes.

“There is no need for that.” The Maia’s tone was calming and the glare of his yellow eyes sedative. Celebrimbor blinked at him, his empty right hand falling limp and forgotten by his side.

Movement at the corner of his vision made the elf’s breath catch and he hurled around. He thought he had seen a dark shape darting between the scant trees, which crowned the hillock, but when he turned there was nothing there.

He listened intently for the sound of many-clawed paws prowling through the night, but the only noises he could hear were the fast drumming of his own heart and the deafening rush of his own breaths. Once again he reached for his sword.

“We should have left.” The elf stressed gravely.

Annatar’s hand was on his arm faster than Tyelperinquar could see. The Maia had moved and was now sitting down beside him on the ground, pushing the Elven Lord into the padded warmth of his bedroll with insistent hands.

“None of that, Tyelpe.” Annatar crooned, pulling the furs over Celebrimbor’s legs, tucking him in like a mother would a child.

“What are you doing?” The Lord of Eregion hissed as he was forced to lie down, while his instincts screamed to get up and fight. Suddenly the elf went silent and very still.

Out of the shadows a wolf’s giant head reared out, and at the sight of its gnarled hideousness Celebrimbor’s breath died in his chest. His hands and toes curled in shock, and he fought to rise underneath the Maia’s heavy hand, which pressed firmly over his sternum, using the gathered covers of his bedroll to immobilize him.

“They have eaten.” Annatar said and the smile he directed at the pinned down elf showed too many teeth. “But the smell of fear increases their appetite. You would do well not to act like prey, dear one.”

Wolves begun to emerge, snarling and circling at the edge of their dying fire, many phosphorescent eyes flashing in the red light, and there was something familiar and deeply unsettling about the intelligence Celebrimbor glimpsed in them.

“Werewolves-” Celebrimbor gasped. “These are the werewolves of Angb-”

His voice trailed off as the cold wind blew on the ashes and they snuffed out the last of the small flames. The light flickered with finality and disappeared completely, throwing the world in almost complete darkness.

In the murk a growl came from somewhere close and Celebrimbor’s throat worked audibly to swallow. His heart felt as if it was about to burst. He couldn’t see anything at all.

He felt more than saw Annatar crawling over him, straddling him on all fours in the dark. Whimpers and sniffles of wolf maws were heard all around, wet sounds of something trickling to the sandy ground beneath. In those thin cries, the elf could almost distinguish the words, of which Annatar had spoken - baleful speech, full of sorrow and hatred for the world. They spoke of hunger that could never be sated, of misery and pain, which could only be stalled with living blood.

 _‘This isn’t real. This is a nightmare.”_ Celebrimbor chanted in his head, too horrified to move or even breathe.

“You reek of fear.” Annatar’s voice stalked through the night. Low animal sniveling and the scrunching of paws chorused him. “Do you know how you tease them?”

 _‘I’m not the one who teases them with a pinned down prey.’_ Celebrimbor thought, fear and frustration a numbing mixture in his bones. He was trapped with nowhere to go, surrounded by a pack of wolves that just waited for their leader to take the first bite.

Annatar laughed.

Everything seemed to stand deathly still as the Maia moved closer, resting his elbows by the sides of the Elven Lord’s head. The only thing that still dared to disturb the stillness was the insistent pounding of Celebrimbor’s heart. The elf felt Annatar’ breath mingle with his own, could taste something ripe and cold, sweet like rancid meat, moist like damp soil, foul and ancient, on the tips of the Maia’s lips.

“No.” Celebrimbor breathed when the Maia’s petal mouth touched the bared skin of his neck. Padded softness drew back, leaving behind a set of hungry teeth.

“Go to sleep, Tyelpe.” Annatar whispered and after a moment of sharp, blossoming pain, all the fight, and every other sensation in Celebrimbor went away.

…

Pale sunlight peeking over the edge of the hill awoke him. The Lord of Eregion rose slowly, shaking off the heaviness of dreams.

Nightmares and dark visions had left him cold and tired despite the full night’s rest. He remembered one particular terror: the entire hill being swarmed with werewolves and Annatar turning out to be one of them, or something even worse.

He remembered his dream ending with Annatar tearing him apart - starting at his neck, wrenching off his head and then consuming his body, one bloody organ at a time; opening up Celebrimbor’s gut with his teeth and feasting on the fleshy bits inside while the monsters around barked and howled their lust for blood, jaws dripping in anticipation for their master to finish so that they could take their turn.

The memory of that dream made the elf feel nauseous and his world seemed to sway. Searchingly he looked to the real Annatar, whom he spotted standing at the eastern edge of the their camp, facing the rising sun. His strong, elegant silhouette was outlined by the sunrise’s crimson light. Other than that, there were no signs of blood on him or anywhere else on the hill.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Celebrimbor stretched, basking in the first rays of the morning, letting them warm his body after the night’s chill.

An odd itch made him scratch underneath the fall of his dark hair, catching on some dirt on the side of his neck. He chipped it off and it came away with a sting of pain.

Raising his fingers to his eyes, the Elven Lord saw his nails dark with dried blood.

With horror he touched the patch on his neck, fingers coming away dotted with red from a reopened wound.

 _‘This cannot be.’_ He thought.

When he looked up once more, Annatar was facing him, a strangely sated smile on his face.

“Good morning, my Lord. How did you sleep?”

 


End file.
